Family, Malady, and the Aftermath
by Gabubu
Summary: A collection of parts from my collection of Bolin and Mako and their family before, during, and after the tragedy.
1. Chestnuts and Ash

**This shall serve as my clumping grounds for parts of my "Fabulous Bending Brothers: Family, Malady, and the Aftermath" personal fanon series on AO3 that aren't already on FFN in some form. Most of these will be Makocentric or familycentric, since most of my currently written Bolincentric parts are in "Heart of Malachite".  
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**.::.::.::.::.::.::.::.::.::RATINGS MAY VARY. ANYTHING ABOVE A K+ RATING WILL CONTAIN A NOTICE IN THE BEGINNING.::.::.::.::.::.::.::.::.::.::.::.  
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**Chestnuts and Ash **

_Mako discovers he can bend with help from his parents and a chestnut._

**Bolin is 2; Mako is 4.  
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The sun stretched that morning, rays striking along the gray sky- dawn's departure groggy and slow, clinging to the sky and marking it unblue. But the sun rose, and it slowly and powerfully elongated its influence on light. Dew clung to surfaces- the stone grounds of the city slick. Mist danced in the distance, obscuring. A tall, thin boy- ruffled from sleep- dragged across the home from his bed toward the airy coolness from the outside. He sleepily noticed a series of sacks blocking the exit and approached them as curiosity awakened him.

The biggest bag contained rice. The middle ones held a haphazard collection of fruit and vegetables: mandarins and green onions co-mingling. A small bag caught his attention: it was small and he found it easy to carry, if a bit heavy. He fiddled with the tie until it gave, and stuck his hand inside. Chestnuts.

His mother's heavy red robe trailing behind her- a shield against the cold of a new year's season- as she approached the fireplace in the corner. In her hand lay a clay pan evenly layered in wrinkled and puckered shelled chestnuts- the outer hull pried forcefully from the soft nuts by the strong hands of his father. But the delicious inside lay captive in a layer of a papery inner shell- something the flame from his mother's fingers on the wood would roast to a crackly, easily crumbling state.

Mako grasped a deeply colored nut- nearly the same color as his papa's favorite boots. He took it and tried to break it, trying to use the power in his fingers like he'd seen nearly a year prior. But his fingers were delicate and long, not burgeoning with power or inexplicable finger muscles. And they were small, so small they fit comfortably around the a single aforementioned finger. But they were big enough to dwarf his brother's- he was only a baby.

The nut's wall would not crack or give. But he wanted the sweet, gentle taste of softened chestnuts in their sugarcane nectar, sticky-ing his hands and face. So he walked to the fireplace, stubborn snack in hand. He touched the flaky remnants of a fire: croaking black stalks and gray sand. He at least needed the papery part taken care of, so he placed the chestnut on top of a pile of the gray sand he made himself.

He touched the sand with blackened hands, waiting for a fire to burst into life. Nothing happened. Now annoyed: the hull wouldn't budge and now he couldn't even get the fire going. He touched the sand differently, trying different sides and different sizes of ash mounds. Thoroughly angered, he screamed at the fireplace and the unyielding walnut, pointing at it in rage. An acrid scent exploded, as black smoke rose from the burning chestnut.

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**I wrote one of these for Bolin as well- but it's a chapter in "Heart of Malachite". I hope I wrote about Mako well: he's not my favorite character, but I don't want my bias to show.**

**Mako's parents were making Kuri no Kanroni, a Japanese chestnut sweet. This took a longer time to write than it seems: I had to think of something for Mako to do in order to discover his firebending, and then I decided on chestnuts. But my original idea was too western. I had to do some more research, which is where Kuri no Kanroni came from. To top all this off, I have no idea what chestnuts taste like by themselves or in Kuri no kanroni- good thing the recipe had a description of the taste on it. lol this note is longer than the fic itself.  
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**Reviews make my heart beat faster. Thanks for reading, wanderer!  
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	2. For Crumbs to Settle

**For Crumbs to Settle**

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_The first day of school, a departure, and morning.  
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**Mako is 5; Bolin is 3.**

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A simple brown tunic and a matching pair of pants rested on the small bed, a green and red sash stretched out next to the clothing. Light snores filtered through the room, and the sound of boiling soup entered through the open door. Slurps, obnoxious and brash, also snuck in, ringing in the young boy's ears. His mother's soft fingers currently touched his hair gently, steam rising as she bent the wetness from his early bath away. She helped him into the brown clothing, crisp and new. It was nearly truly morning, and the sounds of deeply resonating footsteps leaving for the mines echoed underfoot. The woman in gray sleeping robes stepped out momentarily- the scent of roasting rice crackers wafting through.

Mako yawned, his mouth opening wide, approaching his brother amid a tangle of blue. He slept peacefully, cuddling a worn stuffed green platypus bear. Drool pooled from his opened mouth and a curled fist with a prominent thumb lay near it. Mako leaned forward, feeling the softness of the blue blankets and the gentle firmness of the edge of the mattress in his belly, and pressed a soft peck on Bolin's cheek.

He followed the smell of crackers, standing on his bare tiptoes before the small wire grill currently warming and crisping a wide disk crafted from pounded rice. A soft brush added a gently honeyed tone of color, salting it. Motherly fingers carefully turned the round, brushing the other side. Moments passed: seconds counted by each dance of the tiny flame. Satisfied, she extracted it from the wire and placed it in a pretty red paper, handing the burning cracker to her son.

Warnings of burnt lips and tongue rung in his ears, so he blew and smelled the cracker, salivating. She extinguished the flame and waltzed slowly to the bedroom, where she dressed in warm layers and bundled her dark hair in a scarf glistening like fresh tea leaves at sunrise. Her golden eyes peeked mysteriously from the scarf, shining when light pressed against the irises. She wrapped the sleeping Bolin in blankets of deep blue, like the tropical depths of her homeland.

The street rested: mostly sparse. Pinches of mothers alongside brown-garbed children filtered along it. Bolin stirred, waking and writhing in her tired arms. She set him feetfirst, wrapping him in his blankets, only his wide, groggy eyes and small feet erupting from blue. His small hand sought her's, and he reached for Mako's. Shifting the cracker to his other hand and taking a sharp bite- crumbs speckling his dashing uniform- Mako took her brother's hand hid it inside his palm.

Eventually, the trio reached the opened gates of a calmly constructed school, the sign bright orange. A gaggle of kindly teachers awaited their new pupils. Mako was embraced briefly by his mother, and then kissed on each cheek.

Golden eyes watered as green ones did, the brown-clad boy walking reluctantly from two thirds of the three most treasured people on earth.

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**I seem to write Makocentric without even trying. dafuq.**

**The whole "Mako loves osenbei" is entirely my personal fanon. If my** **bby likes Dumplings and noodles, Mako likes osenbei and ...something else. Osenbei are rice crackers; I had some heated up like described above at Nikko Edomura this summer. (except for the brush part, that's just me making up stuff up) Fucking delicious, those things are. I also figured since Bolin is more Chinese/Korean in his love of food that Mako would be more Japanese. Because I'm on crack. Though it would be fun if Mako loved something totally weird. Like dotori muk muchim.**

**Reviews make me dance; readers make me sing.**


	3. Rise

**More Papa Fab! (Finally). Jae means "respect" and Chun Hei means "honor and grace" (or something like that) in Korean according to a baby names website. I named the grandparents. I described Mama and Papa Fab's hairstyles in accordance with a guide I read on traditional Korean hairstyles (in kdramas, lol). Genmai-cha is a Japanese green tea with osenbei and (sometimes) a little matcha. I feel like it's earthy.  
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**Rise**

Bolin snored, shifting in the seat. The young earthbender was sprawled out bodily, with his limbs curled next to him to accommodate the narrowness of the seat. Next to him, Mako sat– awake– as his father stared out the train's window with a sad expression.

He remembered his mother gently shaking him awake as dawn started to seep into the sky and through the window, bringing a peculiar coldness with it. His mother's hair was already tucked into a low bun and concealed by a vibrant green scarf. His father shuffled in the background, moving suitcases and pouring tea.

Groggy as he was, the next thing he knew he'd sipped at a potent cup of oolong softened with sugar and a dotting of milk. Bolin remained lost in the world of dreams. He held his father's strong hand– his hand was engulfed by his father's, actually– as the worn doors and windows of the family's domain clicked and locked closed.

At one point along the dew of morning and the gray of the city and the station, Mako asked a question: "Why are you sad?". His father's response and face– the very combination of it didn't really make sense. He'd smiled a sad smile while his green eyes mixed between sadness and glee.

It just wasn't something he understood. His mother snored lightly, leaning up against the sad man whose eyes didn't drift from the rolling land outside the window.

Boredom lurked in the corner, distracting Mako from a distraction. There wasn't anyone to talk to: his mother and Bolin were asleep and his father wasn't much for words. True, he spoke and conversed freely and smiled down at his sons. But when he lingered with a quiet air about him, pensive and silently rumbling like the earth shifting beneath the world's exterior, silence remained his favorite mode of communication. It calmed Mako.

The train lurched for the final time: they arrived in Ba Sing Se's lower ring. The young firebender reached for his brother's swinging, limp hand as his father carried his sleeping form through the darkening city. Ba Sing Se differed from Republic City in that the buildings were much, much older and run down, as well as more traditional-looking: each line of a home or business ending in a flourish. His amber eyes explored the unfamiliar place. Father's change in appearance registered as he surveyed the area. His longer hair rested neatly in a knot atop his heat, a wooden spear stabbing through it. He felt his mother's soft hand grasp his free one.

Eventually, his parents laden with suitcases and his slumbering brother, they came upon a small house with faded green paint like freshly swirled matcha and a patched wooden roof. The windows lacked the luxury of glass and battered shutters flanked each one. His father set Bolin down carefully as his mother let the luggage down from her hands and back, taking her husband's place in waking the groggy boy. Callused hands knocked gently on the worn wooden door.

Grandmother and Grandfather Jae were wizened and thin, their skin scraggly but clinging overly tight to their frames. Their nearly identical loose-fitting garments had a weathered look granted by decades of washing and scrubbing. Bolin ended up sitting next to Grandfather on a bed in the main room of the small home.

"Granpa, why are you laying down?"Bolin asked, propped beside the pillow beneath his grandfather's head. His mother paused, looking to her husband and her mother-in-law, unsure.

"He's broken, little Bo. But it's okay, he'll get glued back together soon," came the sweet voice of Grandmother Chunhei, answering from a worn chair over a steaming cup of genmai-cha. Mako's thoughts wandered to the answer his father gave him on the way to this small, worn place. He sat on the chair by his mother, dutifully holding her ball of yarn as she knit away at scarves for the aged couple, the rhythmic clicking of her bamboo needles settling over the breathing of his grandfather and the grown-up conversation punctuated by Bolin's questions

"There are things I want to fix," he'd said, a sad look to his face and a slight incline of his lips. The combination of those things on his father, someone so strong he could lift both of his sons on one arm and lunge masses of earth over any obstacle (or so he boasted), whose crafty hands mended everything and gentle silence calmed Mako when upset, was something he didn't understand.

And now, there were things Mako wanted to repair. He wanted to know what happened to his broken grandfather and his skinny grandmother. He wanted to erase the loss of his parents and he wanted to improve the broken state of his and his brother's living conditions. But really, if his father's ripped arms couldn't mend his grandparents, who's to claim Mako's scrawny arms could fix the staggering tower of broken things before him? If his father's iron will and steady stance didn't succeed, why would Mako? His stance was fluid and his will wasn't even an ore. How would he even begin?

Father wanted to rise. He wanted to soar at a reasonable height, above the sickness and the worn furniture of his homes, present and past. It all made sense, finally.

All it took was a pile of things to fix and the utter inability to do anything but place them on a to-do list he was sure would never be completed.

So Mako stopped trying to rise; he settled for climbing.

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**I don't think the ending was as potent as I wanted it. Feedback would help me out. Reviews make me flutter around on freshly-sprouted butterfly wings.**


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